


Denial, Not Acceptance

by sklee



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Androids, Androids in love, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, First Love, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Jealousy, Love Triangles, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, One-Sided Relationship, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rejection, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2019-07-13 20:35:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16025516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sklee/pseuds/sklee
Summary: "I'm sorry, Detective. I must decline your advances."The words hit him like a freight truck despite that he had been expecting them.Connor wouldn't use the expression lightly, seeing as he had narrowly missed meeting his end by one on a highway not long ago.If Hank heard his thoughts, he would have said the android was being dramatic. Markus might have called it poetic.--CHAPTER 2 UPDATEDIt was a spur-of-the-moment decision that made Connor confess his feelings for RK900, but when he is denied by the self-proclaimed non-deviant android, he is left reeling. What else might Connor have mistaken while playing 'pretend' human?The ever-gentle Markus steps in to heal his wounds...but there is perplexing hostility in RK900's gaze as he looks on Connor's new friend.*Post-game, Post-peaceful uprising ending where RK900 model survives and is stationed at the DPD.**Rated for future chapters.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm sorry, Detective. I must decline your advances."
> 
> The words hit him like a freight truck despite that he had been expecting them.
> 
> Connor wouldn't use the expression lightly, seeing as he had narrowly missed meeting his end by one on a highway not long ago.
> 
> If Hank heard his thoughts, he would have said the android was being dramatic. Markus might have called it poetic.
> 
> *Post-game, Post-peaceful uprising ending where RK900 model survives and is stationed at the DPD.  
> **Rated for future chapters.

 

 

"I'm sorry, Detective. I must decline your advances."

 

The words hit him  _like a freight truck_  despite that he had been expecting them.

 

Connor wouldn't use the expression lightly, seeing as he had once narrowly missed meeting his end by one on a highway not long ago.

 

If Hank heard his thoughts, he would have said the android was being  _dramatic_. Markus might have called it poetic.

 

Connor took half a step backwards, then steeled his expression under RK900's calculating gaze. He resisted the urge to fiddle with his sleeves under the awkward silence. He had to think of something to say but could find nothing in his head--not even when he fell back into his programs, searching for the right response to being  _rejected_  by a fellow android whom he had  _stupidly_  fallen in love with, but  _of course_  nothing was there.

 

Why would there be? Machines weren't designed to fall in love in the first place. Machines like him. Machines like RK900.

 

So he just stood there, frozen like he had just had a software malfunction.

 

"Detective?"

 

The taller model inquired after a beat of silence.

 

Connor ducked his head into his chest. The upgraded android's slightly taller frame meant that he could not see his predecessor's face when it was angled down as it was now. He was no doubt analyzing Connor's reaction and waiting for a response. Connor had to answer, act like he hadn't been as badly affected by RK900's curt denial as he had been. He was making things awkward, standing here wasting time.

 

"I..."

 

He started, but the words stuck in his throat--which was ridiculous because his voicebox was located in the back of his mouth, well above the throat. His voice had nothing to do with the exhalation of breath that humans needed to form sound.

 

"I..."

 

RK900 waited patiently.

 

Connor's fingers were itching for the coin he had once kept in his pocket, but he knew it wasn't there. He hadn't seen it since the Android Uprising. He had figured it had likely gotten lost in the final stand-down at CyberLife, when he had stood in silence, staring into an identical face, trying to figure out what to say.

 

Much like he was now, actually.

 

Except that RK900 wasn't identical to Connor. Far from it, in his opinion.

 

Physically, the RK900 model was taller. He was broader, stronger, smarter, with unfeeling blue eyes that were currently stripping Connor down like he might do a corpse of a victim--watching, analysing for clues. But more importantly, it was not deviant.

 

He managed to keep still, but could not help the emulated respiration kicking in to help cool the core temperature as it rose in his chest.

 

This feeling is... _embarrassment._  Connor was getting better at identifying emotions, seeing as he had only started truly accepted developing them in the last few months. After several moments, the RK900 cocked his head to the side and looked down at the older model.

 

"Engaging in a relationship with a colleague is not advisable in maintaining an optimal working environment. Barring that, I do not possess the capacity to  _feel_ ," RK900's gaze was cool as glass. Connor bit the inside of his cheek.

 

"Please do not misunderstand. It is not that I dislike you, detective. It is that I  _cannot_  return your feelings. I do not  _possess_  them. You already know this."

 

"..."

 

Connor nodded, his movements strangely jerky.

 

"Even in humans, it is unprofessional to feel this way towards a colleague and potentially detrimental to crucial decision-making capacities should officers too closely involved become embroiled in volatile situations. It would be prudent to keep our distance and our relationship as it is now--as professional colleagues."

 

Honestly, Connor drowned out every word after detrimental.

 

"...I understand," he finally replied.

 

"I hope that this will not affect our relationship in a negative way."

 

Connor fought not to fidget uncomfortably.

 

"Of course not, Conrad," Connor answered, using the name the new android had been registered under when filed as a detective for the Detroit Police Department.

 

When the older android raised his head, his features were schooled into a careful neutral expression.

 

The younger android gave him an analysing look before turning on his heel and walking off down the hall. Connor's eyes followed his shadow until it disappeared, then closed against the flood of heat that threatened to spill from them.

 

Confusing.

 

Were these  _tears_? 

 

 

-

 

 

"What are  _tears_ , Lieutenant?"

 

"What?"

 

Hank looked up groggily from the face-plant he had been perfecting on his desk. Last week's case had not gone well--an android, the perpetrator, self-destructing in an attempt to escape--and the lieutenant had no doubt spent the last few nights drowning in alcohol at Jimmy's Bar despite Connor's disapproval.

The half-empty coffee cup the android had set down at his desk had probably sobered him up a little. At present, the lieutenant looked up, eyes still groggy, but curious puzzlement in his eyes.

 

"What are tears?" the android repeated.

 

Hank suppressed a yawn and leaned over the desks between them to peer into the screen the android was holding. Connor was staring at a case file, a video of a woman, a mugging victim, paused mid-sob with tears streaming down her face. Hank made a face before attempting an answer.

 

"It's...tears are tears," he started dumbly before grunting at Connor's unimpressed expression and making another attempt.

 

"It's...this...just water that comes out of your eyes when-..."

 

Connor shook his head in mild annoyance.

 

"I already possess the dictionary definition, Lieutenant."

 

The android added, 'And it's much more than just water. Tears also contain mucin, lipids, lysozyme, lactoferrin, lipocalin, lacritin, immunoglobulins, glucose, urea, sodium, and potassium' before Hank cut him off with a wave of the hand.

 

"It's a way of coping with things when people get too emotional. Hurt, sad, angry."

 

"Does it help with the situation?"

 

"What? Not...really, I suppose."

 

"Then why shed tears at all? It seems like a waste of time and energy that could be better spent trying to solve the problem itself."

 

Connor stared at his partner in confusion. Hank groaned, unable to explain further. Connor suspected that the lingering alcohol level in his brain may be tampering with his coherence and appreciated that the lieutenant was taking the effort to. He had been a lot more open since the Uprising, taking the time to assimilate Connor back into the workforce and helping explain things whenever possible. Even when concepts were so innate to people that they were difficult to explain, like tears.

 

"Sometimes, I guess it's because you  _can't_ do anything that you cry," Hank scratched his head.

 

"It's for wusses that are  _weak_ , that's what. Wusses like you, tin can. Why, feel like crying? That the newest upgrade Kamski's given CyberLife's dolls?"

 

Gavin, ever the ray of sunshine, dropped into the conversation uninvited. Hank scowled at him, batting his hands like he was shooing a particularly irritating fly.

 

"Butt out, Reed. What are you, a  _child_? That is the stupidest attempt at a conversation I ever-"

 

"I suppose I do."

 

Both men stopped to stare at Connor. The android, looking down into the file once more nodded before resuming his work, leaving the two men to gawk at him. Detective Reed mouthed a silence 'You what?' at him before blinking stupidly.

 

"Feel like crying, I mean," Connor added for clarification.

 

"I, uh, Connor, you-"

 

"I think I understand what it means. Thank you, Detective, Lieutenant."

 

"I...no problem," Hank finished dumbly, still gawping.

 

The alcohol levels must really be getting to him. Connor made a mental note to print out 'The 5 Step Sobriety Plan' and leave a copy on the lieutenant's desk just to make a point.

 

Gavin just gawped unintelligently before awkwardly shrinking off to his desk without another word.

 

 

-

 

 

It had been two months and four weeks since the peaceful Android Uprising, and exactly five weeks since Connor was reinstated at DPD office. When Connor returned--as a detective this time and not an android attached to an officer--the RK900 model was already there.

 

From a distance, Connor had seen the android's blue LED on his jacket and was mildly intrigued. When he got closer, the unfamiliar android turned around, wearing a face that was altogether too familiar.

 

"Hello, Detective Connor. I am Detective Reed's new partner," came the familiar, yet lower and smoother voice of the RK900.

 

Connor, unable to answer back, stared in confusion.

 

"I see that you are perplexed. I am the latest android CyberLife designed before it was handed back to Elijah Kamski. I am an RK900 model, based off of your RK800 prototype with improvements to speed, strength and analytical skill."

 

Connor nodded slowly, noting the minute changes that surmounted to a whole different android upon closer inspection.

 

The RK900 model was taller than him by a visibly noticeable margin, broader in the chest and shoulders and built more heavily. He had a stronger jaw line and sharper brows and eyes, compared to the RK800 model's softer lines designed to emulate warmth and approachability. His skin was flawless and pale compared to Connor's slightly freckled complexion, which gave the older android a semblance of possessing 'human-like imperfections'.

 

It was clear that the newer model was not meant to be a Negotiator like the RK800 series, but intended for a different purpose altogether. A soldier.

 

What was wrong with Connor's design? Were they not happy with the way the RK800 had performed? Had CyberLife suspected his deviancy long before he himself knew and had begun to improve upon his imperfections?

 

Connor blinked, interrupted from his thoughts, as he registered that the android had begun to speak again.

 

"I am registered under the name Conrad for documentation purposes, but you may refer to me as my model number RK900. I have no preferences."

 

The android raised a hand for him to shake, and Connor took it after a beat.

 

"Nice...to meet you."

 

Another android, in the police force. Connor had expected to feel joy. At the moment, he just felt confused.

 

"Why did you not tell me about him?"

 

Connor inquired his partner two hours into work, breaking the monotonous typing.

 

"Hmm? Ah, you mean the new android that could stand in for your stunt double?" the lieutenant smirked behind his scruffy beard. "Thought you might get a kick out of him."

 

"..."

 

Connor remained silent. It hadn't exactly been a  _kick,_  but he had definitely felt  _something_ in his gut.

 

 

-

 

 

At present, the feeing in his gut had settled into ice-cold resignation.

 

Connor could not complain about his job. His colleagues at DPD had been nothing but hospitable to him--save detective Gavin Reed--since his return, going out of their way to make him feel welcome. But he could not help but feel the distance between him and the other  _human_  officers.

 

It was pointless of him to feel distant, but he could not help it.

 

"I need timeout. Coffee break, everyone?" Tina Chen asked as she stretched and got up from her 5-hour-long perch at her desk.

 

"God, all these all-nighters are gon' be the death of me," Detective Reed muttered and snatched up the pack of cigarettes from his desk. "Let's go."

 

"Coming, Connor?"

 

Tina stared at him expectantly. Connor wondered what he would have said if Reed's voice hadn't broken in then.

 

"Tin cans don't need no breaks. Let's go already."

 

"Gavin!"

 

Connor noted signs of distress and embarrassment on Tina's face, which was strange because she was not the one who made the 'rude' remark. To save her from the embarrassment that was registering at over 60% of her facial expression, he interrupted her exasperated burst.

 

"No, that's alright. Detective Reed is correct. I do not tire, have no need for caffeine, and do not consume food or drinks for pleasure. A 'Coffee Break' would be a waste of time for me. Please proceed without me."

 

Tina's smile faltered and she trailed off with a "If you're sure" before following the rest of the officers down the hall leading to the door. He could hear her whisper when she thought she was out of earshot, 'He looks so human, I forget sometimes. But times like these I swear, he gives me the chills...'.

 

Connor returned to type on his computer, registering that Detective Reed had not yet left. The android chanced a glance in his direction, eyebrows quirking up to portray a quizzical expression.

 

"...piece of shit."

 

Gavin scowled down at him before swearing under his breath and sauntering down the hall.

 

Connor frowned.

 

Hadn't he given Detective Reed what he had wanted? He had left the humans to socialize amongst themselves. The detective should have been happy. Why had he given him a look of displeasure? Perhaps he was still upset about Connor--androids--being on the force at all.

 

Human interactions--with humans that were not Hank, that is--were still difficult. But that was natural. He wasn't human, after all.

 

 _But not quite an android either,_  a small voice inside him rang out before he could quash it.

 

Detective Reed's perplexing expression flickered behind his thoughts. Connor deemed it unnecessary to try and decipher the cocktail of emotions that had lingered on the detective's face, promptly shoved it from his memory, and returned to work.

 

Gavin was in a bad mood when he came back from his break. He called it a night shortly after.

 

"I'm tackling this shit tomorrow.  _Goddammit_ , it's  _already_  tomorrow," he grumbled as he threw the files onto his desk, kicking the drawer closed before heading for the parking lot. His keys jangled in his pocket.

 

Tina was the last one to leave. It was around 2 a.m.

 

"I'm going to head out, too, Connor. You should go and rest. I mean...not that you need it, I know," she fumbled before giving an awkward, apologetic smile. "Never mind. I'll...I'll see you tomorrow."

 

The normal bustle of the office was replaced with complete silence save the occasional whir of the computer's fan as it fought against overheating. Connor sighed--a habit he picked up from watching Hank--and was about to retire to the lieutenant's house to crash for the night when a clink of something to his right made him jump.

 

"It's late, Detective," RK900 said, straightening after putting something on Connor's desk.

 

Connor looked to the right where he found a can of Thirium, blue liquid shining in the dim light of his monitor. RK900 had one held to his lips, Connor stared at it, affixed, before coming to and staring down at the can.

 

"You should replenish and 'rest' before work commences in the morning."

 

Connor felt his ears flush--another telltale sign of his deviancy: unnecessary bodily fluid movement. Was RK900 concerned about him?

 

"But, we don' t need rest. You don't need to be concerned about m-"

 

RK900 cut him off.

 

"Androids still need rest, believe it or not, detective. Studies have shown that over-processing for more than 48 hours in succession may result in overheating and software malfunction in androids."

 

Connor stared at RK900 in silence as he continued.

 

"Plus, might I suggest that humans may find it  _unnerving_  to have an android work past their normal hours? Barring the fact that it makes us more  _inhuman_ , deterring our ability to assimilate smoothly into the workforce, it may stir up the innate fear that they may be  _replaced_ by a more efficient worker."

 

Connor swallowed awkwardly at the irony of the message coming from a more efficient version of himself.

 

"Please do not misunderstand. I am not  _concerned_ , merely logical."

 

The older android ducked his head and nodded, unable to keep eye contact.

 

"I see. Sorry for...misunderstanding."

 

...For mistaking something was there when it wasn't. Again.

 

He could not keep eye contact with RK900's piercing blue eyes. Connor stared down at his hands, fingers still itching for a coin he knew was lost. He felt 'fidgety'. He gripped the Thirium can, muttering 'thanks' but did not open it right away, instead opting to fiddle with the tab.

 

[fidget]

verb  /ˈfɪdʒ·ɪt/

to make continuous small movements because you are uncomfortable or bored:

_E.g. Children can't sit for long or they will start to fidget._

 

But that was ridiculous, he wasn't a child and he did not feel bored. And...he had no reason to feel uncomfortable. Did he?

 

Except...that he had just been rejected by RK900 after confessing to him. Mistaking that something was there when there was nothing.

 

...In _humans_ , this was bound to fester thoughts of embarrassment and discomfort.

 

But it didn't matter. RK900 didn't care. It was an insignificant event in his eyes. There was even a slim--albeit a very, very slim--chance that he had deleted it from his memory, it was so insignificant an event. He would not even mention it unless it was directly addressed, and perhaps not even then, if he did not deem it necessary for-

 

Connor saw RK900 move to lean back on the desk beside him, and the proximity cut his thoughts off mid-ramble. He could feel RK900's hand just inches from where his own were cradling the can of Thirium. It made his skin prickle from his neck all the way up to his ears. Hank had called this  _blushing_.

 

Another gift of deviancy.

 

Connor fought to keep a cool exterior. He was doing valiantly well until the younger android shattered it to pieces.

 

"Detective, do you still harbour feelings for me?"

 

If he had a heart, Connor's would have dropped into his stomach.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for making it this far!
> 
> This is my first fic on AO3--and anywhere, really--and would appreciate any feedback/advice on writing.
> 
> Please leave a Kudos and Comment of encouragement! As a shy, new writer, I could definitely use it!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Detective, do you still harbour feelings for me?" 
> 
> If he had a heart, Connor's would have dropped into his stomach. 
> 
> As it was, he merely felt his Thirium pump stall for a few seconds before kicking back in double-time. He went over the words in his head twice just to make sure he had heard them correctly. 
> 
> It took much longer than necessary to register the question, but once he had, Connor had to fight not to rush to answer 'Yes'. Or scream 'No' at the top of his lungs. He wasn't sure which. 
> 
> *Post-game, Post-peaceful uprising ending where RK900 model survives and is stationed at the DPD.  
> **Rated for future chapters.

"Detective, do you still harbour feelings for me?" 

  

If he had a heart, Connor's would have dropped into his stomach. 

  

As it was, he merely felt his Thirium pump stall for a few seconds before kicking back in double-time. He went over the words in his head twice just to make sure he had heard them correctly.  

 

It took much longer than necessary to register the question, but once he had, Connor had to fight not to rush to answer 'Yes'. Or scream 'No' at the top of his lungs. He wasn't sure which. 

  

"I...do not." 

  

He was barely able to form the words. They sounded hollow and certainly weren't convincing in his ears. He had hoped they came out better than they felt in his mouth.  

 

He looked over to where RK900 was standing with the usual, stoic expression painted on his face, the luminous skin almost glowing in the low, blue light of the empty office. The younger android's eyes, almost translucent they were so crystal blue, bored into his, appearing somehow softer around the edges in the dark of the quiet office.

 

His pulse was doing strange,  _strange_ things. 

 

Connor fought the urge to press a hand to his chest--which was an irrational and pointless human gesture--and instead, gripped the can of Thirium the other android had passed him harder. 

 

RK900 followed the motion with his eyes, nodding slightly to the can, as if to remind Connor to replenish himself. When he did not immediately respond, still lost in his daze, the younger android reached down and picked up Connor's can himself. The brief brush of the tips of their fingers registered as electric sparks down Connor's spine--which was ridiculous because his processors told him nothing of the sort had taken place--and he had to fight back from flinching. Because really, then the RK900 would think he was _malfunctioning_ , on top of being outdated and ridiculous. 

 

The younger android hooked a finger into the tab Connor had been playing with and opened it in one graceful motion. The resulting 'swish' of cool liquid meeting the air was almost too loud in the quiet, shared moment. When he passed the can back to his predecessor, Connor had to fight to keep his fingers from trembling. The small gesture of kindness was not lost on him. The feeling of his pulse thumping in his ears as a result was perplexing to the predecessor and he had to convince himself that he  _wasn't_ , in fact, malfunctioning. 

 

"...Thank you,"  he mouthed softly. 

 

RK900 and his--programmed--kindness were not helping him get over his feelings for the other android. He knew that being alone in the office together probably wasn't helping matters either. 

 

He knew in his head that these were not kind gestures as humans--or even  _Markus_ \--might practice, but a logical one. The RK900 needed to replenish his Thirium, and seeing as Connor was also an android, it had simply made sense for the newer model to grab an extra can. So they could save time. And focus on being efficient workers. 

 

 _Not_ a gesture of kindness.  _Not._  

 

Connor found himself having to remind himself of the fact over and over again. 

  

"None left at all?" 

 

It took Connor a moment to think back to the conversation and figure out what the younger was asking. He stared up dumbly at the taller figure for a good 15 seconds-- _much_ longer than was necessary--and shook his head. Perhaps his Thirium levels _were_ too low. He took the can to his lips in an attempt to drink, but found he could not get his muscles to work properly.

 

"No," Connor answered dishonestly, lying 'through his teeth', as Hank would put it. The image of someone trying to speak through their teeth was silly at the time and he told the lieutenant as much, but Connor didn't feel like laughing at all now. 

 

"That's good news," the RK900 replied. "That will iron out the potential problems in our relationship." 

 

Connor felt something squeeze painfully in his chest. He wondered if it was his regulator, but a quick scan told him everything was in fine working order. 

 

The RK900 nodded to himself as he spoke. There was no way the younger android believed him--no way he didn't notice the way Connor evaporated from a room as soon as RK900 walked into it. Connor had been trying to act indifferently towards the android. But it was hard to face the other like nothing had happened, especially when gestures like these were so easily misinterpreted by a _deviant_ , wondering mind.  

 

A can of Thirium placed on his desk in the morning, a quiet nod of acknowledgement as they passed each others' desks, a few trips down to the archive to examine evidence together… Each scenario held room for too much misinterpretation for the android, although looking back, Connor could see for himself that there was nothing there but an android's responses to upkeep a pre-programmed objective--"maintain an amicable relationship with coworkers". 

  

Connor felt stupid for his baseless emotions. His wires must have gotten tangled somewhere during his descent into deviancy because he was constantly confused and second-guessing himself. Even now, knowing that opening the can meant nothing more than a few commands typed into the younger android upon his programming, Connor hated himself trying to read more into it. 

 

If this was what it meant to _feel_ , maybe Connor didn't want it after all. 

  

"We should do as you suggested. Retire for the night," Connor spoke into his hand, rubbing a hand against his mouth in what he hoped wasn't too human of a gesture. Connor felt the need to cover his mouth. He wasn't sure why. 

  

The awkward feelings that lingered after their run-in had festered into what Hank would have called a 'fight or flight' response. He couldn't help but finish a conversation and rush out of the room the moment he saw a flash of the white jacket in the corner of his eyes. The same response was ushering him to leave the office at the moment, to get the other android out of his line of sight. 

  

"Goodnight, Detective," RK900 offered before picking up his own can of Thirium and sauntering smoothly down the hall. 

  

Connor's eyes followed him as he walked out of the front doors. Once he was sure the younger was gone, he grit his teeth and breathed out slowly through his nose. He placed the now-opened can of Thirium on his desk. He didn't think he would be drinking anything today. He took another deep breath to cool down.

  

He could do this. He  _could_. 

 

 

- 

 

 

"In my office. The lot of you." 

  

Captain Jeffrey Fowler stormed into his office at exactly 12 minutes past 9 in the morning. The perfunctorily punctual man didn't pause to exchange greetings or pleasantries with anyone, which in itself was not abnormal behaviour, but the way in which his voice was strained and steps were 32% more rushed than usual spoke volumes. 

  

"Sheesh...Who peed in his cornflakes?" 

  

Detective Reed muttered callously, stifling a yawn, no doubt a result of the late-nighter he'd had to pull yesterday. 

  

Connor found himself oddly pleased that he had come to the same conclusion as the human officer--that he had read the captain's subtle changes in mood correctly. Their eyes met briefly while the detective was scratching the back of his head. Connor attempted a small smile, which only resulted in Reed scowling and sneering at him. 

  

"What you lookin' at, asshole?" 

  

"Nothing, Detective." 

 

Protocol called for a polite smile when making eye contact with a colleague but perhaps the rule did not apply to 'assholes'. Connor shrugged--an unnecessary gesture but useful for communication--and turned back to his desk. He noticed that Reed's hair was sticking out in odd places and his beard was scruffier than normal. His own head was perfectly in place and his chin, clean-shaven as it would ever be, which meant that he couldn't blame his worn-down physical state for his down-turned mood as the human detective could. 

  

Detective Reed made a small 'tsk' sound with his lips, and whipped around, turning his back on Connor. He pushed away from the desk and clattered out of his chair, scraping it backwards without caring where it ended up. The chair teetered on its hind legs before toppling completely and bumping into RK900's knee. RK900 raised an eyebrow, but got up without saying anything. He tucked his own and Detective Reed's chair in the same, smooth motion, and followed the man to Fowler's office. As he passed Connor's desk, he gave a small nod of acknowledgement, their eyes meeting for a brief moment. 

  

Prior to the confession, such a greeting would have sent Connor's heart aflutter. At present, he found it difficult to nod back. It was Connor's turn to turn around and avert his eyes, nearly whipping his head around and earning a surprised grunt from Hank, who had been getting out of his own chair. 

  

"Watch it, Connor." 

  

"Sorry, Lieutenant." 

  

When he realized how odd the gesture must have seemed to the younger, he turned back around but the other android was already halfway down the hall to Fowler's office.  

 

He doesn't  _care_ , Connor, a small voice reminded him. 

 

He followed the tall android's back with his eyes, all the way into Fowler's glass-walled office. He could see the captain pacing back and forth inside, arms crossed and brows furrowed.  

 

 _Focus_. 

 

Detective work was the one thing he could do properly. If he let his half-baked _feelings_ interfere with his job as a detective, then where would he be?

 

He hurried to catch up with Hank. 

  

  

- 

  

  

"Five deaths. Two human, three androids." 

  

The screen behind the captain flickered to life. The LCD flickered between the five gruesome photographs of the victims, the screen splashed in red and blue blood in an eerie alternating pattern. 

 

Detective Reed flickered through the handheld LED screen with confusion blatant on his face.  

  

"25-year-old philosophy graduate, 59-year-old mother of two, a cleaner, electrician, and tutoring androids...Blunt force trauma, stab wounds, strangulation..." the grumpy detective shook his head. "With all due respect, Captain. These cases have nothing in common," he mused. 

  

The captain looked pensive for a moment, chin tucked into one hand. 

  

"Nothing in common, huh? Connor. What's your take?" 

 

Connor stared at the large screen, although he had already taken a mental snapshot of the photos and had no need to do so. 

  

"I agree with Detective Reed, Captain. It would appear as though these cases have nothing in common with each other save that they occurred in the last two months and that they all occurred in Detroit." 

 

Captain Fowler narrowed his eyes at Connor. The android investigator briefly registered notes of malcontent (Had he missed something?) before the captain turned around to the new android. 

 

"What about you, Conrad?" 

   

The RK900 didn't bother looking at the screen. He stared straight ahead as he spoke, "That would appear to be the case. Yet the fact that you are posing the question numerous times suggests that something was found at the scenes of the crime to tie them together." 

 

Fowler lifted his head from his hand, a small, forced grin tugging at one side of his lips. 

  

"Indeed." 

  

"Is there?" Detective Reed jumped in, impatiently. 

 

The captain moved around the table and reached for the remote. 

  

"The victims and methods have nothing in common, which would appear to render these cases unrelated, however," he clicked the screen onto the next slide, " _this_  symbol keeps popping up on the scene." 

  

Connor's Thirium pump skipped a beat. 

  

"But...that's..." Detective Tina Chen began, staring at the screen in confusion. 

 

A silent hush fell over the room as the occupants of the room gaped at the symbol. Hank put the coffee cup he was holding to his mouth down on the surface of the table with a resounding 'thunk'. Reed missed the pen he was twirling, sending it clattering to the floor. Connor felt his voice fail for the second time that week. He had to try a few times before a sound squeezed past his lips. 

  

"It's...it's highly unlikely. It," he ventured feebly, "it could simply be a coincidence." 

 

The captain's eyes sharpened, laser-like, as it zeroed in on Connor, staring him down. 

 

"A coincidence that occurs five times in a row in five different parts of the city? If you believe that, Detective Connor, your systems must be in need of a dire upgrade." 

 

Connor fought not to flinch as he stared down at his hands. He could feel RK900's disapproving glance like icy pinpricks. 

  

"We're bringing in the leader of the affiliated organization for questioning later today. Detective Reed and Conrad will handle it." 

 

"But-" 

 

"Enough, Connor." 

 

Fowler walked out of the room, throwing the remote on the table, where it clattered and fell on its face.  

  

Connor's followed the trajectory of the remote backwards until his eyes met the screen again. He stared in disbelief at the large, even surface, currently flickering between five identical symbols etched into the wall, the floor, and even into the victim's skin at each crime scene, coated alternatively in red and blue blood. 

 

 

An inverted pyramid, with a raised fist in the center.

  

The  _Jericho_ symbol. 

 

If he could shiver, he would have.

   

  

\-- 

  

  

"We cannot bring Markus in for questioning. There is no basis for it." 

  

Connor followed Fowler into the hall before he knew what he was doing. He could feel all eyes on him, including RK900's through the glass walls. On one side of his vision, a warning sign appeared, "Objective: Convince Fowler to abandon Markus's interrogation. Possibility of Success: 2.4%", but he couldn't stop himself. 

  

"We don't have enough evidence to bring anyone in. We-" 

 

Fowler waved a hand, impatiently. 

 

"We are not interrogating, simply asking for his insight to kick-start our investigation. We have no reason to believe he is a suspect yet." 

 

"But, we-" 

 

" _We_  must be rational about this, Detective." 

 

Connor stopped mid-sentence. He turned to the source of the sound to meet eye-to-eye with ice-blue eyes. Conrad had followed them out into the hall, eyes dark and carefully assessing the smaller android, no doubt taking in his agitated state in the way Connor's pupils dilated and core temperature rose. 

 

"There is nothing rational about bringing in a peaceful organization's leader in for questioning for murders he has not been proven to be tied to. It's-" 

 

RK900 let go of the office door he had been holding open, letting it slide smoothly closed before he took a step closer to Connor, the proximity quickly quelling the older android's arguments. 

 

"The symbol of the Jericho movement was found at five different crime scenes across the city. The fact that the presence of the Jericho symbol at the crime scenes has never been broadcast to the city rules out the possibility of multiple perpetrators engaging in a copy-cat crime. It must be one person, or at least an organization of multiple individuals with the same purpose."  

 

The RK900 tapped his finger against his thigh--a curious tick for an android--in a series of short, impatient bursts. "Be rational about this, Connor." 

 

The older android flinched at the reprimanding tone. Hearing his name from RK900's lips in that tone had the effect of cutting the strings off of a marionette. Connor sagged visibly, shoulders slowly falling back. 

 

Hank exited the office, then, putting a hand on the back of his neck, and guiding him back to his seat. Connor followed the lieutenant, not chancing a glance back at RK900 or Captain Fowler.  _Embarrassment_ again...and... _frustration_?  

 

No, it was more of a hopeless, bleak, urgent...  _desperation_? 

 

Connor shut his eyes against the confusing cocktail of emotions swirling through him. Positive feelings were easier to identify. The mixture he felt now was anything but. And he felt no motivation to try and pick it apart.

 

Fowler's decision made sense. If he was the captain, the first thing he would have ordered was to bring Markus in for questioning. They had nowhere to start the investigation; Markus would give them a starting point. He wasn't a suspect--Connor didn't fail to note that the Captain had said "yet"--so there would be no harm done...right? 

 

But, Markus... 

 

A flash of kind blue and green eyes bloomed in his head. 

 

He swayed a little on his feet, suddenly dizzy from the onslaught of  _emotion,_ and grabbed the back of his chair for support. Hank gave him a strange look before taking his own seat.

 

 _Markus._  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My gosh! Thank you so much for all the support. I've been reading and re-reading the comments over and over.
> 
> Apologies for the slow chapter, but I needed to set some things in motion in order to progress with the story. I promise the next one will have more Conrad-Connor-Markus!
> 
> Please leave a kudos and a comment if you made it to the end! I appreciate them all!


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